


The Alchemic Circle

by ZealouslyQuixotic



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-12 03:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13539066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZealouslyQuixotic/pseuds/ZealouslyQuixotic
Summary: It was ironic, how the world turned on metaphors and allegories. Everything was a pointed reminder of the truth of alchemy, of life. It was nothing more than an endless cycle of construction, de-construction, and re-construction. And try as he might, Ed couldn’t deconstruct his past fast enough to run from it. It stuck to him, as dark and as persistent as his shadow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea percolating for a while, and thought I might have a go at setting it to (virtual) paper. It's turned into a bit of a runaway train.  
> This initially takes place in 1923, when Ed is 24.

The Alchemic Circle

_24 th September 1923_

Somehow, it was that damned day again. The day his hubris had nearly cost him everything. When _Al’s_ life had been put on hold and utterly tethered to his own.

Al kept telling him not to take it so personally - it was merely a function of the Gregorian calendar society lived by, after all - but it was hard not to when he felt as if his past was stalking him.

It was ironic, how the world turned on metaphors and allegories. Everything was a pointed reminder of the truth of alchemy, of life. It was nothing more than an endless cycle of construction, de-construction, and re-construction. And try as he might, he couldn’t deconstruct his past fast enough to run from it. It stuck to him, as dark and as persistent as his shadow.

“Brother?” Al’s uncertain address came from behind him.

Ed turned and gave his brother the brightest smile he could muster. “Yeah Al, what’s up?”

“Nothing.” Al leaned his elbows on the railing, his shoulder brushing Ed’s and effusing him with solid warmth. “You just look like you’re wallowing.”

“Am not.” Ed said reflexively. “I’m thinking.”

“About mum?”

Ed sighed. “In part,” he admitted. “But mostly about Truth.”

Al grimaced. “You’ve been talking to Gabriel again, haven’t you.”

Crossing his arms defensively, Ed shot his brother a stubborn glance. “So?”

“Edward Elric!” His little brother was genuinely upset, if the use of his full name was any indication. “He’s a psychopath.”

“He’s a genius.” Ed countered.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive!”

Ed rolled his eyes. “Whatever. His theories are interesting.”

Al shifted next to him and then prodded him callously. “Brother, he’s one psychotic break away from human transmutation, and you know it.”

Ed blinked at him, and then laughed. “Then what does that make us?” He pushed away from the fence, dropping deftly to his feet. “Al, you worry too much.”

“Probably because you don’t worry at all.” Al’s large eyes were fixed on him, his expression brutal in its pleading.

Ed made the mistake of looking at him and felt his resolve crumble like a sandcastle exposed to a cyclone. “Alright, alright. Jeeze, you fight dirty.”

His little brother grinned at him, all sunshine and real, _human_ , expression. It would never get old, and he would never take it for granted. Not again.

“It’s the only way to bypass your mulishness.” Al said cheerfully.

“I’m not mulish.” Ed said mulishly.

“Of course not, brother.” Al said insincerely. “Now come on, May’s made dinner and you know how she gets when we’re late.”

Ed perked up at the mention of food. His stomach rumbled with anticipation and he started off towards Al’s house at a quick pace. Al fell into step with him easily, his long legs giving him a slight advantage. A thought suddenly occurred to Ed, and he froze mid-step.

“Will, uh, will Winry be there?” He studiously avoided looking at his brother, who had paused beside him and was no doubt looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and impatience.

“Oh for – brother, it’s been two years! Can’t the two of you be civil for one night?”

Well, he’d gotten the sympathy part wrong.

Ed raised an eyebrow. “We were hardly civil when we were married,” he pointed out.

“But you could still stand to be in the same room.”

“Just barely.” Ed muttered and then winced when he glanced at his brother’s face. Kicked puppies had nothing on Al’s wounded expression.

“You’ve been back for a week.” Al said quietly. “Have you even seen Maes and Sara yet?”

Ed glared at him. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I haven’t.” Ed crossed his arms, his chin jutting out in defiance.

Al glowered down at him, using his extra height to his advantage. “ _Why not_.” His eyes were steely and his tone brooked no argument.

It was an Elric brother standoff: as apt to end in violence as in resolution. Either way, his brother would win. Whether encased in armour, or in flesh, Ed had yet to beat his brother in combat. And Al could talk all he liked about Ed’s mulishness, but he was a giant, stubborn, hypocrite.

Ed scowled, and relented. “I don’t know how to,” he admitted.

“How to _what_?” Al steadfastly refused to let him off the hook.

“How to face them.” Ed looked away, his eyes threatening to betray his confidence. He hated tears – they were _useless_.

Al looked alarmed. Served him right for being such a nosy busybody.

“What do you mean?” He asked naively. “You didn’t do anyth-”

“I ruined it.” Ed snarled. He took a step back, fiercely blinking moisture from his eyes. “Like I ruin everything.”

“What do you –”

“I ruined our marriage.” Ed carried on, heedless of his brother’s attempts to get a word in edgewise. “And if I stay, I’ll ruin the rest of it, too. My kids don’t deserve that. They deserve –”

“A _father_.” Al cut in. “And they need one.”

“They need someone like you.” Ed said quietly. “Not someone who can barely hold himself together, most days.”

Al shook his head. “You need to pull yourself together Ed. Those kids need you. _Winry_ needs you.”

“I can’t be what she needs.” Ed silently begged his brother to understand. “I tried, but I just, I can’t.”

Al looked up, and then closed his eyes. Sighing, he dropped his chin and fixed Ed with a piercing look. “You’re turning into dad. You can see that, can’t you?”

Ed clenched his fists. The urge to sock his brother in the face had never been stronger. It was a knee-jerk reaction, but he knew his brother was right. It had been destined to happen from the beginning. Just one more spoke in the revolving wheel of life.

“They’re better off without me.”

“I’m sure dad thought that, too.” Al said brutally. “You remember what happened, don’t you?”

As if he could ever forget.

He stared at his brother, aghast. Al’s expression softened and he reached forward and gripped Ed’s shoulder.

“You can change it,” he said. “It’s not too late. Just come and have dinner with us. No commitment – just food and good company.”

Ed nodded reluctantly, and allowed Al to lead him up the hill and towards the house his brother had bought with May upon their return from Xing. His thoughts were a complete mess, and his head was pounding.

_You’re just like dad._

He wasn’t sure he could breathe anymore, wasn’t sure he deserved to. How could he have done this to his own family? Why weren’t they enough for him?

The house loomed out of the darkness and every window seemed to contain a facet of his judgment. The lights were on, silhouettes framed in the ensuing contrast. He could hear the bright, unabashed, laughter of a being free from self-consciousness.

Ed stopped at the threshold, as his heart seized in his chest. He watched Al slip through the doorway, smile huge as he picked up his wife and spun her around. May giggled and swatted his shoulder with a spatula, her dark eyes hopelessly fond.

And there was Winry. Just watching from the table, with Sara in her arms, and Maes colouring on the floor beside her chair. She looked just as he remembered her: painfully beautiful and unrepentantly poignant.

He must have stood there for too long, staring, because next thing he knew Al was striding over to Winry and leaning down to whisper in her ear. She startled and her head snapped around to look in his direction, and suddenly he was running. Down the hill, stumbling over himself, so fast he could barely see where he was going.

It didn’t much matter.

When he slowed down enough to take stock of his surroundings, he wasn’t surprised to find himself in the cemetery. It was fitting. He dragged himself to his mother’s grave, and then slumped to his knees in front of it. Gripping the cool grass in his hands, he did his damndest not to cry. It was all of his own doing – he didn’t deserve to shed tears.

His mother had been only a few years older than Winry when Hohenheim had abandoned her. God, he was so much like his father. He even looked like him, these days.

“Ah, I thought I’d find you here.” An aloof voice broke his concentration. “Doesn’t matter where you go, you just keep coming back, huh Elric?”

Ed looked up to see Gabriel Brecht peering down his long nose with thinly veiled disdain. It wasn’t difficult to guess the object of his contempt – the other man despised emotion and saw no utility in self-pity.

“What do you want, Gabe?” He asked tonelessly.

“Why, simply to help.” Gabriel crouched down, careful to keep his suit from making contact with the ground. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Ed shrugged. “Guess so.”

Gabriel stretched out a pale, manicured, hand. His brown eyes were alight with something Ed didn’t care to identify. “Then come with me.”

Ed glanced at the expectant hand and sighed. “What’s the point?”

“You want to change things, don’t you?”

“You can’t change the past.” Ed said sharply. “And you know the Truth as well as I do. Better, even. It repeats itself in unerring patterns.”

“Truth is a wheel.” Gabriel withdrew his hand and stood abruptly. “And like any wheel, it can be broken.”

Ed sighed. “Just leave me alone already,” he said morosely.

Gabriel’s expression tightened with anger. “How dare you treat me like this. I was going to share my life’s work with you, you _brat_.”

Ed spared him a brief, dismissive, glance. “I literally could not care less right now, okay?”

Gabriel pressed his hands together and red sparks flew from his palms. “You _will_ care, Edward Elric.” He said furiously, “and you will _understand.”_

Ed, sprawled on his knees, had no time to back away as Gabriel strode towards him and slammed a sparking palm into his chest.

He felt his lungs seize as the eye of Truth opened beneath them both. Black shadowy hands stretched towards him, his nightmares given corporeal form.

Gabriel cackled as the hands pared his flesh from his bones. “Don’t waste this Elric!” He screamed. “Don’t waste it.”

 

~~~ 

 

When Ed opened his eyes he felt blind. Complete nothingness stretched in every direction. Looking down, he could see his body and nothing beyond it. A strange 3D object trapped in an undefinable dimensional plane. Before, there had been a gate; now, there was nothing but silence. Perhaps this was death. He supposed it was a hell of sorts, and a fitting penitence; trapped for eternity in a place with no stimulus save his own thoughts.

He doubted it though – he never did have much luck with dying, after all.

Goosebumps trickled down his arms, and he turned to see Truth fading into existence with its typical grin stretched wide across the shades that formed its face.

“Edward Elric.” The words lacked the usual sinister glee. “You are not supposed to be here.”

“I hadn’t exactly planned on it myself.” Ed said wryly.

Truth cocked its head. “I don’t quite know what to do with you.” It said, uncharacteristically straightforward. “You are the subject of a failed human transmutation. Yet you were, relatively, whole to begin with.”

“Appreciate the qualification.” Ed muttered. “Am I dead?”

“Yes.” Truth’s grin widened, “and, of course, no.”

“Helpful.” Ed sighed. “What does that mean?”

“Guess.”

Ed crossed his arms. ”No. Just tell me.” He didn’t have the inclination to play its circuitous games; he’d long since learnt how futile they were.

Truth scowled. “You used to be more fun, you know.”

Ed glared. “That’s more than I could say of you.” He put his famous mulishness to good use and stared the thing down until it sighed, and relented.

“Look around.” Truth spread its arms. “What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

“Precisely.” Truth bared its teeth in a feral grin. “Your gate is the bridge between your world, and mine. But you don’t have one. You gave it up, remember?”

Understanding struck Ed with brutal force. “So you’re saying I’m stuck here.” He frowned, as a thought occurred to him. “Can’t I just go back the way I came? Through Gabriel’s gate?” The resulting glee on the shaded figure’s face was as clear an answer as he could have asked for. Once again, he was well and truly screwed over.

“Oh no, he’s gone.” Truth cackled, a manic edge to its laughter. “Very, very gone. Nothing left.”

Ed recalled the moment Gabriel had clapped his hands together – a clear sign of previous human transmutation – and the resulting alchemy had sparked red just prior to the other man’s palm slamming into his chest. It could only mean one, terrible, thing.

“But the red sparks – he had a philosopher’s stone, didn’t he?” His eyes widened, “it wasn’t enough?” It was almost unthinkable. What could Gabriel have possibly tried to do, that required so much human life to power it?

“Of course not.” Truth snapped. “You humans and your unending hubris. Do you think the past so easily tampered with? It cannot be done.”

So that was it, then. Gabriel had tried time travel and the cost had been exorbitant. Ed supposed it was comforting, in a way. No human should have the power to change history. Still, it left him stranded between two worlds, and utterly powerless.

Ed clenched his fists. “I didn’t do this.”

Truth surveyed him with indifference. “Yet here you are.”

“There must be another way – there must be something I can do.” He was close to pleading; his resolve on the verge of giving way. Maybe it would be easier for everyone if he just vanished, but he couldn’t do that to Al. Al would think that he had pushed too hard, too fast, in trying to get Ed to have dinner with his family. Probably, he would assume that Ed had simply left; too cowardly to face his mistakes. Whatever the reason given, Al would blame himself, and Ed couldn’t have that on his brother’s conscience.

“There’s nothing _you_ can do.” Truth said bluntly. “But there is another way.”

Ed didn’t even have to think; there was no real choice to be made. “I’ll do it.”

“So hasty.” Truth purred. “Don’t you want to know the cost?”

He should have known. Nothing was free in a world ruled by equivalent exchange. Even if the truth was that there _was_ no equivalency; everything had a set price.

He would just have to pay it.

“Tell me.”

“Why, nothing but time.” Truth said simply. “Will you pay?”

“Do I have another choice?” Ed arched an eyebrow, pondering the meaning of the cryptic response. The most likely scenario would be that he would lose some indeterminate amount of time. Perhaps he would awaken in the future? Or possibly he would return to the exact moment he left, but his body would have aged to some extent, without him?

“You could stay here with me.” Truth unfurled into a standing position, though its feet did not seek purchase on what Ed assumed was the ‘ground’. Given the lack of differentiation, he supposed it didn’t really matter. “I do so enjoy our chats.”

Ed snorted. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“How dull.” Truth sighed. “Well, off you go then.” It waved a hand and a gate materialised behind him.

Ed turned as the doors swung open to revel inky blackness. As shadowy hands slunk from the darkness to wrap sinuously around his limbs, he heard Truth let out a sharp cackle.

“See you soon, Edward Elric.”

 

_24 th September 1910_

 

He woke at the centre of an elaborate transmutation circle. It was dark, and his vision was hazy, but he could make out a pair of teary golden eyes staring at him in abject disbelief.

“It worked?” The young voice was thick with pain. “But you, you’re not mum. And where’s my brother? Where’s Alphonse? Al?!”

Ed’s world was spinning on an endless loop. He thought he was lying down, but vertigo had him off-balance and uncertain. A dull buzzing pervaded his eardrums, and he belatedly realised that both his clothing and his automail were gone.

Something was battering at his right leg; it felt like small, warm, hands. Not Truth, then.

“Who are you?’ The voice screeched as the battering intensified. “What have you done with my brother? Where is he? Please, you have to give him back, he’s all I have!”

Things were swimming into focus and Ed’s brain was starting to reboot, his senses sharpening. He’d been here before. He knew this place; that voice.

“ _Dad?_!” A warm weight settled on his thigh. Hands fisted against his skin, and wetness spread down it. “Please, you have to help me.”

A bitter metallic tang assaulted his nostrils as he tried to breathe deeply. It was all too familiar.

Ed mustered the strength to sit up, and opened his eyes properly. Golden orbs stared back at him; horror and fear clear in the wide pupils.

“ _Please_.” The boy said again. “He’s gone.”

Ed surfaced from his stupor, the last vestiges of delirium slipping from his mind, and realised how little time was left. If he didn’t act now, this Al would be gone forever.

“The armour,” he croaked. “Bond his soul…to the armour.”

The boy’s eyes widened, but then he nodded grimly and began to drag himself towards it. Blood trailed behind him, and it killed Ed to know what awaited him, what awaited them both.

Reaching the armour, his younger self trailed his fingers through the puddle of blood forming around his left leg and then began to draw the array.

His younger self fainted as the array sparked and flared to life. Ed gasped as an answering spark raced through his own hands, an electricity gathering at his fingertips that he hadn’t felt since the Promised Day. Somehow, impossibly, his alchemy was back.

“Brother?” Al’s voice, frightened and tinny, echoed from the suit of armour. “What’s happening? Why can’t I feel anything?” The armour shuffled, held its hands up to its helmet, and looked at them for a long moment.

Ed’s heart broke.

Al glanced down and caught sight of his brother, bleeding and unconscious on the floor. With a loud crash, he dropped beside him and gathered the small boy into his hollow arms.

“Brother? Are you – wake up, please, Ed, you can’t…please brother.”

Tears ran down Ed’s face and he made no attempt to stop them. His heart was pounding in his chest, his lungs felt as if they were on fire.

He couldn’t let this happen again.

No, he _wouldn’t_. Not when, by some insurmountably cruel act of fate, they had given up everything to summon _him_. The truth couldn’t be such a dark self-perpetuating prophecy. He wouldn’t let it.

Al looked up as he moved to the edge of the circle, and cradled his brother tighter against his chest. “ _Dad?_ When did you get here? What happened to Ed? Is he-”

“Don’t worry, Al.” Ed offered him a reassuring smile. “I’m going to fix this.”

He slammed his hands on the array, and felt the heady rush of alchemy explode through his palms. This time, when the eye blinked into existence beneath him, he welcomed the dark hands that ripped through his body.

 

~~~

 

When Ed once again opened his eyes to the bleak monochromatic landscape, Truth was already waiting for him.

“Back so soon?” It tutted. “Did you forget something?”

It seemed surprised, but Ed wasn’t fooled. Surprise of any kind was anathema to its very being.

“What have you done?” He demanded. “Why did you send me there?”

“I did the only thing I could.” The graphite shades of its body expanded, then shrunk, and reformed. “There are laws even I must follow, Edward Elric.” If Ed didn’t know better, he would have termed its manner apologetic. “I let you go back through your gate, but I could only do so at a time when you performed human transmutation.”

“But why _then_? I performed human transmutation on the Promised day. I brought Al…back.” He paused and then clenched his teeth. “Equivalent _goddamn_ exchange. So that thing we created the first time, it never existed this time?”

Truth nodded. “You took its place.”

Ed closed his eyes. “So I transmuted myself into existence. What a cosmic joke, you must be ecstatic.”  

“It is a beautiful cycle,” it admitted. “But ancillary to the true purpose.” Leaning forward, it fixed him with a blank stare. “Now, you have come to barter with me, have you not?”

Ed opened his eyes and nodded firmly. “I want Al’s body back. And Ed’s limbs.”

“Greedy, aren’t you? Well, you’ll have to pay a pretty price for those.”

“Anything.” He said firmly. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.”

“Curious.” Truth flickered, the shades around its form flowing forward. “You would try to change the past? Have you any idea what that would mean for your future?”

“I’m guessing it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh?” Grinning, truth clapped its hands to the side of its face. “Do tell.”

“You said that altering the past was impossible, but I’m not in the past, am I?” Folding his arms, he gave the being a sharp look. “You sent me to a parallel universe. Nothing I do here affects my own. Any deviance will simply split into an indefinable number of possibilities.”

“You’re rather well-informed.” Truth said sourly. “Yet despite knowing that this is not your past, you would still sacrifice everything for something of no consequence to yourself? What right do _you_ have to change their future?”

“I won’t let them suffer.” Ed clenched his fist. “Not like we did. Now shut up and name your price.”

There was a marked silence that stretched like an eternity between them, and then Truth bared its teeth. “Very well. When I brought you here, I restored something to you. I want it back.”

“My alchemy.”

“Yes. Give me that, and I am content.”

“And that’s enough?” Ed demanded. “For everything?”

“Yes. The toll is equivalent.”

“Then do it.”

~~~

 

It was eerily quiet when Ed regained consciousness. Dark, too, though pale moonlight glinted through the windows, bathing the white chalk of the array in a luminescent glow. Blood still stained the floor, and pervaded the air with its metallic tang, but he could see no sign of his younger self or brother.

He moved to stand up on instinct and then bit back a cry of pain when his stump jarred harshly against the unyielding stone floor. He had forgotten that his automail hadn’t made the trip back with him. It would make things much more difficult, to begin with, but he supposed it was best he wasn’t running around with futuristic automail attached to his leg. People would be asking enough unanswerable questions as it was.

Once the pain had subsided, he settled for dragging himself into a sitting position. He hadn’t been sitting for more than a minute when a low cough broke the eerie silence that blanketed the house.

“So, you’re awake.” A familiar voice sounded from the shadows engulfing the doorway.

Ed shuffled to face the direction of the sound, but couldn’t quite make out any discernible facial features. It didn’t matter – he would know that voice anywhere. Though he supposed it was best he maintained ignorance; at least until he could work out what to say.

“Who are you?”

Pinako moved into the glow of the moonlight, her face grim. “Just an old woman who loves those boys like her own grandchildren.” Her circular glasses glinted in the pale light and Ed realised he would have to come up with a story sooner, rather than later, if he was going to conceal the fact that he was from a potential future.

“Then you must be Pinako.” Ed said carefully.

Pinako raised a thin eyebrow. “Heard of me, have you? Now isn’t that interesting.” She folded her arms across her apron and fixed him with her patented no-nonsense glare. Somehow, despite the glasses obscuring her eyes, the stare never failed to get her point across. “The boys seem to think you’re their father, but I know Hohenheim, and you’re not him.”

“No.” Ed said quietly. “I’m not.” He knew he would have to provide some kind of identity, and explanation, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “I’m his brother.”

Pinako assessed him with a raised brow. “Well, you do look astonishingly like him, which I suppose is all the proof you’ve got to offer me.”

Ed shrugged. “I know a lot about him, and the boys.” More than enough to pass as Hohenheim’s brother – probably enough to pass as the man himself, to anyone who hadn’t known him as long as Pinako had. But even if he hadn’t been faced with her steely gaze, he couldn’t see himself pretending to be his father. Beyond the fact that he would eventually turn up if Ed was stuck in this alternate past long enough – and there was no indication that he wouldn’t be – it would have felt in ill-taste, and far too confronting, given his distaste for the similarities they shared.

“Okay, young man, I’ll bite. What’s your name then?”

“Ed-” He started on instinct and then winced, before hurriedly adding: “Edward Hohenheim.”

Pinako’s eyes narrowed, her brow furrowing. “You’re hurt?” It was an unexpectedly generous assumption; given how shifty he was acting, and he silently thanked her for it.

“Old injuries,” he explained with a manner of sheepishness that wasn’t entirely affected. “I lost my leg when I was eleven, but I still sometimes forget it isn’t there.”

The older woman’s gaze dropped to his stump and her face tightened in sympathy. “I have many more questions to ask you, but I suspect this interrogation would best be conducted over a nice cup of tea.” She moved closer and bent down, offering him a strong hand to grasp. “Let’s get you up then.”

Ed accepted the hand, and allowed her to brace his side as he struggled to his feet. Having lived with automail for so long, he felt entirely off-balance with only half a leg weighting down his left side. It was unnerving, to say the least.

“Lean on me, dear.” Pinako encouraged him. “I won’t break. I’m not decrepit you know.”

“Thank you.” Gracelessly, he slumped into her hold and allowed her to guide him through the doorway and onto the pavement outside. It was slow going, and he missed his automail fiercely with every step. He hadn’t felt – or been – this vulnerable since the very first time he’d woken on that cold stone floor, surrounded by blood and ash and failure, so desperate to save his brother that he would have paid any price to do it.

When they reached the Rockbell house they found younger-Ed, Al and Winry waiting anxiously on the porch. The sight was so surreal in its dual familiarity and dissimilarity – it felt at once a warm memory, and a fantastical dream. His younger self and brother were hale and whole and thoroughly unblemished by the events that had once utterly defined them. They would have nightmares, perhaps, but they would never know the Truth in the way that he had come to know it. In that moment, as the immeasurable weight of what he had done dawned on him, he was unsure if he had done the right thing. True, he had saved them years of suffering, but what had they lost in return? What essential lessons had they avoided, what friends might they never meet? He had set them on an uncharted course he couldn’t hope to predict, or correct. What if, through his actions, the Dwarf in the Flask succeeded? He would have sacrificed the lives of an entire country to give two boys respite from a few years of suffering. It wasn’t, and could never be _,_ equivalent.

_What had he done?_

“Dad!” Younger-Ed and Al spoke in near perfect unison, the vocalisations mere milliseconds apart.

Ed winced and faltered, and Pinako shot him a sympathetic look.

“Let’s get you inside first.” She said quietly. “Then you can explain.”

Nodding, he gripped the railing with his left hand, and used his existing arm around her shoulder to balance himself as he hopped steadily up the stairs. It was hard work, and he used the physical exertion to gain control of his spiralling thoughts.

“Winry, dear, get the door please.” Pinako said as he crested the last step. “And fetch some of your father’s old clothes.” She led him through the doorway and settled him on the auburn couch in the living room.

“Now, I’ll put on some tea, and then we’ll talk.” Bustling off to the kitchen, she left him alone with two pairs of bright, curious, eyes fixated on him.

Ed froze as the simple scene threw him headlong into an as yet mostly untraversed quagmire of guilt. How could he even _begin_ to imagine the implications of his interference? Life was a fragile thing, and the probability of any given event occurring in conjunction with any other was so obscurely small it was likely incalculable. Once again, it seemed his hubris was unending.

“Here you go.” Winry, blushing, handed him a pair of pants and a soft cotton shirt. Having done so, she fled into the kitchen. Ed slipped the shirt on easily but struggled with the pants. Al stepped forward and helped him, even as his younger-self stood, arms folded, with a prodigious glare on his face.

“You’re not really him, are you.” Younger-Ed said with quiet certainty. His golden eyes – an unflinching mirror of Ed’s own – were hard; the soft centre plated in impenetrable steel. By contrast, Al’s, though exact in shade, were as malleable as the colour’s namesake.

Lower lip trembling, he stepped back and clung to Younger-Ed’s arm as if his tight grip had the power to alter the outcome.

Ed felt their pain in a visceral way, having experienced it himself so many years ago, and knew that deception would be no kindness.

He shook his head. “No, I’m not your father.”

Younger-Ed took a protective step in front of his brother, his eyes flashing angrily. “Then who the hell are you?”

“His brother.” Ed said simply. “Edward Hohenheim.”

Silence accompanied his claim as his younger counterpart clearly struggled between his natural suspicion, and a childlike need to believe, against all odds, that he still had family. Ed could well remember what that felt like.

“You’re…our uncle?” Al ventured, naked hope in his eyes.

“Never heard of you.” Younger-Ed said brusquely.

“ _Brother_!” Al admonished. “We can at least hear him out.”

“He does look a lot like your dad.” Winry, having witnessed the exchange with wide blue eyes, piped up suddenly. When Younger-Ed turned to look at her with what could only be described as pure betrayal, she crossed her arms and stuck her chin in the air. “It’s true.”

“I’d be more surprised if you _had_ heard of me.” Ed said carefully. “I haven’t spoken to your dad since before you were born. We’ve been estranged for a very long time.”

“Like us, then.” Al said softly, and Ed’s heart ached at the sadness in his eyes. Al – his Al – had never given up on their father, had forgiven him probably the minute he’d walked out on them, and had unrelentingly encouraged Ed to do the same. Ed supposed he had found some manner of peace with his father – acceptance, at least – but he could never really forgive him for how much he’d hurt Al with his absence. It was simply an immutable characteristic of their relationship.

“Bastard took off right before Mum died.” Younger-Ed said mercilessly, arms folded. “We don’t need him, anyway.” Ed recognised the bravado for the front it was, being well acquainted with his own feelings, far back in the past as they were.

“More importantly.” Younger-Ed continued. “What the actual fuck were _you_ doing in our transmutation circle?”

“Brother, _language_!” Al looked mortified. “I’m sorry,” he said hurriedly. “Sometimes brother is little better than an _animal_.” He shot Younger-Ed a pointed look.

Younger-Ed sighed. “Yeah, yeah,” he waved his hand. “Sorry. But the question still stands.”

“We were trying to bring Mum back.” Al elaborated softly. “But you appeared instead. Were – were you dead?”

“No.” Ed said firmly. “Raising the dead is not possible. Not by any force known to Man, and certainly not through alchemy.”

Their faces fell. Even Younger-Ed had seemed to be holding onto the idea that it had been possible, at least once, and could be again.

“I’m sorry.” Ed said gently. “But you could never have done it. The best you could have achieved was a crude representation of her – a mockery of flesh and bone, as far from human as a living thing could be. If you could even call such a thing alive.”

“A shell.” Younger-Ed summarised.

“Exactly.” Ed nodded. “Once a soul has left the body, it only lingers for a short time. When it goes, it’s gone for good.”

Al looked up from where he’d been miserably studying the floor, dismay plain across his face. “Does that mean if we’d done it right after she died, we could have saved her?”

Ed sighed. “Maybe. But the cost would have been immense.”

“Equivalent exchange.” Younger-Ed frowned. “A soul for a soul.”

Ed could have corrected him; could have said that he had once traded his right arm for his brother’s soul, but he wasn’t sure that in the circumstances it would work the same way. Al’s body hadn’t been dying – his soul had been ripped out of it violently and without preamble. And was one soul precisely equal to another, or were there nuances that added to the cost? He didn’t know, and he thought it was probably best if they assumed the worst. So long as it stopped them from trying again, it didn’t much matter if it was correct.

“But then…” Younger-Ed mused. “My leg...and Al’s body. We lost them, didn’t we?” He looked up, confusion drawing lines along his brow. “I didn’t dream that, right? It was real.”

“It did.” Ed explained, hoping they wouldn’t draw parallels between his own situation, and theirs. “Resurrecting the dead may not be possible, but human transmutation – even a failed one – exacts a toll. That was yours.”

“But you fixed it.” Al said solemnly. “Did you –” He glanced at Ed’s stump, a dawning horror in his wheaten eyes.

“No, that happened a long time ago.” Ed reassured him. “The result of my own fit of hubris.” He thought maybe he had said too much, and when Younger-Ed opened his mouth to speak, Ed thought for sure he was going to ask if he’d performed human transmutation. With no plausible story prepared, he knew he would flounder to answer the question, and suspicion would surely fall on him – they were far too sharp for any other outcome.

But instead, Younger-Ed seemed keenly focused on the present. “What did you exchange?” His voice was quiet and firm, his eyes downcast and his fists clenched by his side. Exactly what his younger self was feeling, Ed could only guess, but he would have wagered good money on raw guilt. In his youth, he likely would have viewed the action as being as distasteful as utilising a philosopher’s stone – it was his fault, and his alone, and he would not have abided anyone else paying for his mistakes.

It was an impossible question, and there wasn’t an answer he could give that would make the slightest bit of difference - not a believable one, in any case - so he resolved to tell the truth.

“My alchemy.”

Younger-Ed’s eyes filled with disgust – at himself, Ed had no doubt – but as he turned to look at his brother he seemed to arrive at the same realization that Ed had come to long ago: he was prepared to sacrifice anything and everything for his brother, including his pride, and his peace of mind. If living with the guilt of using a philosopher’s stone had been the final price necessary to restore his brother’s soul, Ed knew he would have paid it, and gladly. Perhaps it was a desire vested in selfishness – after all, it was his fear of losing Al that had driven him to sacrifice everything to get him back – yet he knew that if the price for Al’s soul had been losing him personally, it would have made no difference. Even now, when he knew there was very little chance of him seeing his real brother again, it soothed him to know that Al was still out there somewhere, living his life to the fullest. Or worrying incessantly about his idiotic older brother who couldn’t step outside the front door without creating some kind of international – or, in this case, inter-dimensional – incident.

Al – the younger version – seemed unable to find words to express his thoughts. His eyes were wide and luminescent with sorrow.

“But we don’t even know you.” Younger-Ed spoke through aggressively clenched teeth that could easily have ground diamonds to dust. “Why would you – _how_ could you sacrifice that much for us?” His words grew in volume, his pitch shooting skywards, as emotion mercilessly laid siege to his composure. “What gave _you_ the right to pay for _my_ mistake?”

“ _Our_ mistake.” Al corrected, visibly upset, but clearly unwilling to join his brother’s tirade.

“It’s alright.” Ed smiled at them, and was almost surprised at how truthful the words were. “I haven’t used it in a very long time anyway, and I won’t miss it. There’s lots of things more important than alchemy; family is one of them.” He could see that his words had only swayed Al, who had always been the more accepting and forgiving of the two of them; and the more grateful, for that matter. Younger-Ed was going to take a bit more than warm notions of familial responsibility – Ed could well remember himself at that age; he had always needed a solid shove in the form of an outright challenge. Roy Mustang had somehow intuited that, and used it ruthlessly, right from the moment they’d met, and he couldn’t deny that it had helped immensely.

“Maybe I didn’t have any right,” he acknowledged. “But it’s done now. So are you going to stand here and pointlessly argue about whether the sacrifice was warranted, or are you going to be worthy of it?” He met Younger-Ed’s ferocious gaze and raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“We’ll be worthy.” Al promised. “Right, brother?”

Ed stifled the urge to laugh as Younger-Ed shot him an exaggeratedly comical look of deep suspicion. “And how exactly would we do that?”

“At the risk of sounding cheesy: live the life you have, and leave the past behind.” Ed fought a smile at the look on his younger-self’s face.

“Alright boys.” Pinako chose that moment to re-enter the living room. “And Winry. It’s getting far too late for young children to be out of bed. Say goodnight to Mr. Hohenheim; you can talk more in the morning.”

“Goodnight Mr. Hohenheim.” Winry said dutifully and then hugged her grandmother before heading off to bed.

Ed tossed him a muttered “night” and followed her, but Al lingered, his expression tentative.

“Will – will you be here, in the morning?”

Ed was wary of promising things he may not necessarily be in control of, but Truth had seemed to suggest that he was stuck in this dimension. Which wasn’t something he wanted to think about overly much given it meant he might never see his real-brother, his ex-wife, or his children again.

“Yes,” he said, and watched Al’s face light up. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Al smiled shyly at him, then bid him goodnight and hurried off to join his brother.

“You’re quite good with them.” Pinako remarked as she handed him the promised cup of tea. “Do you have any of your own?”

Ed accepted the tea and inhaled the aroma with relish. He took a sip to delay answering, and then sighed.

“I…did,” he said finally.

Pinako sucked in a breath and closed her eyes. “It’s a terrible thing, to lose a child,” she said softly. “I lost my son – Winry’s father – barely two years ago to the Ishvalan extermination. Her mother died too, they were both doctors.”    

“I’m sorry.” Ed said. “That war was nothing more than a state-sponsored slaughter. Mindless, meaningless, and perpetuated by one man’s insatiable greed.”

Pinako inclined her head. “As are all wars.” She brought her teacup to her lips and sipped, her sharp eyes focused on Ed’s face. “An odd opinion for a young man. Most of you see only the glory in death. But then,” her gaze flickered to his stump. “I see that you are no stranger to suffering.”

“We’re old friends.” Ed said wryly. “This was my own fault though. I meddled with forces I shouldn’t have, and I paid the price.”

“A steep price.” Pinako observed, brown eyes alight with restrained curiosity.

Ed shook his head. “I got off lightly. Some aren’t so lucky.”

“Hmm.” Pinako mused, “and where is your automail?”

Ed froze; the gears in his brain whirring to a sudden, shocked, halt. How could she know? She couldn’t…could she?

“Wh-what?”

Pinako raised an eyebrow. “Your automail,” she repeated patiently. “I’m a mechanic by trade. I know the signs of automail surgery when I see them.”

“Oh.” He rubbed his leg as he tried to rein in his galloping heart rate. “Well, I was stuck in, uh…limbo, for a while, before Ed and Al summoned me here. Nothing came with me. Not even my…clothes.” He looked down as the embarrassment he hadn’t had time to feel earlier coursed through his veins.

Pinako stifled a chuckle. “What were you doing there?”

Ed supposed it would be easier to tell as much of the truth as he could – it would save him slipping up and being caught out later.

“I fell afoul of a hostile alchemist. He tried to do something big, something he shouldn’t have. Something, well, impossible.” Ed offered Pinako a wry smile. “Naturally, it backfired. He died, and I got stuck in between.”

“Between life and death?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“So if the boys hadn’t…done what they did, would you have been stuck there forever?”

“Quite possibly.” Ed grimaced.

“Then perhaps some good has come of it.” Pinako set her teacup down and folded her hands together on the table.

“I don’t quite know.” Ed said honestly.

“Hmm.” Pinako mused. “Perhaps it was divine intervention. Goodness knows those boys needed someone in their lives.”

“They have you.” Ed pointed out. “That counts.”

Pinako inclined her head. “And they still will, but it’s not the same.”

“I suppose it isn’t.” Ed allowed and then added, fiercely, “but it doesn’t for a moment lessen what you’ve done for them.”

Pinako inclined her head. “You know, I’ve been the sole parent of three children for quite some time now. It will be nice to have a strong, young, man take some of the weight off my shoulders.”

“I have little experience with children.” Ed laughed. “But I’ll do my best.” It seemed it would be his lot to fix the mistakes he had made. He would have to set Ed and Al down the path towards their destiny, or risk the fate of the world. And somehow, without alchemy or truly reliable knowledge of the future, he would have to help them achieve it.

“It’s not hard.” Pinako’s eyes twinkled. “Ed’s a stubborn mule who only does things when he wants to do them – the trick with him is to make him think it’s his idea, you know. And Al’s the sweetest boy that ever lived; honestly you two will just end up co-parenting that hellion he calls a brother.”

“I think I know how to deal with him.” Ed said. At Pinako’s disbelieving look, he laughed. “I pretty much _was_ him. Too stubborn for my own good and I thought myself superior to most other people, until one or two of them pretty quickly ripped the rug out from underneath me.”

Pinako chuckled. “Well I expect we’ll see some fireworks when you two butt heads.” Her gaze dropped to his stump and she turned serious. “You’ll need some automail to keep up with those two. Winry and I would be delighted to make some for you – free of charge.”

When Ed opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand. “Now I won’t stand for any arguments. You need it, and we can provide it. And as far as I’m concerned, those boys are family, which means you are too.”

Ed’s throat felt tight and he swallowed to release some of the pressure. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “And just, thank you for everything you’ve done for them. And everything you will do.”

Pinako gave him an odd look and, for a moment, Ed thought he had blown his cover. But then she smiled and covered his hand with her own. “It’s been my pleasure. Now, you’ve had a rough day, so off to bed with you.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I hope the introduction of Mustang into the story makes up for it.  
> Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Your words were very kind and I promise to respond to each individually soon.

Chapter 2

 

_25 th September 1910_

 

Ed woke to the persistent sound of banging. Groaning, he braced his forehead with his hand as the noise reverberated mercilessly through his throbbing skull. It was barely past six, if his internal clock was still accurate, and far too early for anyone to be knocking with that level of ceaseless vigour.

The thundering paused for one blessed moment, and then began anew.

“Alright, alright.” He heard Pinako call out as she, no doubt, made her way to the door. “Yes – hey! What is this?”

“Where are the Elric brothers?” A very familiar voice demanded angrily, and Ed froze as recognition struck him. He cursed under his breath as he pulled himself up against the headboard. His encounter with Mustang hadn’t originally happened until the 27th and he’d thought he would have more time to concoct a story and remove the evidence. What was the bastard doing arriving two days ahead of schedule?

“Now just a minute.” Pinako said sternly. “Who are you, and why are you looking for them?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Mustang.” Mustang’s tone was clipped, impatience clear in his words. “And this is Lieutenant Hawkeye.” There was a brief pause. “Tell me where they are. _Now._ ”

Ed grabbed the crutch Pinako had left by the bed for him, and swung his legs over the side. Hoisting himself up as best he could, he hobbled out the door and to the front room as quickly as he could manage.

“It’s barely 6 in the morning.” Pinako was lecturing an irate Mustang. “What reason could you possibly have for barging in here--“

“It’s alright Pinako.” Ed interrupted as he reached the doorway. He leant against it briefly, unused to the strain of hobbling with a single crutch. “I’ll talk to the Colonel.”

Mustang turned to face him, and Ed saw the moment the older man (somewhat incorrectly) connected the pieces of the puzzle. Impossibly dark eyes slid to his stump and darkened even further. The Colonel clenched his hands and looked up to meet Ed’s gaze.

“What have you done?” He snarled. “We went to the house; we saw the floor.” Disgust lingered in every vowel; accusation in every consonant. “What _was_ that? _What did you do_?!”

“Calm down.” Ed said carefully, trying to keep his own temper in check. His arguments with Mustang were nothing short of legendary in his own universe, and it wouldn’t do either of them any good to start one now. “No one’s been injured.”

Mustang glanced pointedly at his stump and then raised a solitary eyebrow with enviable skill. For now he seemed to be keeping his rage in check, but Ed knew from experience that it burned very close to the surface.

“ _Recently._ ” Ed amended, rolling his eyes. “This is an old wound. You can tell by the fact that it’s _not bleeding_.”

And there went diplomacy. Ed might’ve been annoyed with himself, but he never could control his sarcastic urges around the Colonel. It was just a fact of life.

Colonel Mustang’s jaw tightened and he opened his mouth to respond, but Pinako beat him to it.

“Why don’t the two of you sit down at the table and discuss it like civilised people, hmm?” She offered Ed her shoulder, and helped him hobble over to the table in question. “I’ll put on some tea.”

“Thank you Ma’am.” Mustang said politely, having retained control over his fury with admirable efficiency.

“Just Pinako is fine, dear.” She reached the table and paused, Ed leaning heavily on her shoulders. “Could you-” she gestured to a chair.

“Of course.” Mustang pulled the chair out and helped to settle Ed onto it.

Ed, burning with embarrassment, said nothing, and allowed Mustang to manhandle him; though the older man was about the last person he ever wanted seeing him in a moment of weakness. Even if this particular one hadn’t yet borne witness to every mistake Ed had ever made.

Mustang settled himself opposite Ed, and then folded his hands. “Unless I’m mistaken,” he said in a tone that implied he knew he wasn’t. “That was a human transmutation circle.”

“It was.” Ed saw no point in lying – it would only further draw Mustang’s interest, and ire. “I drew it.”

Mustang huffed in surprise at the straightforward admission, his eyes narrowing. Leaning forward, he fixed Ed with his piercing, unrelenting, gaze. “ _Why_?”

Ed glared back and tried not to let uncertainty bleed into his expression. This part would be the hardest sell, and the odds of Mustang falling for it were extremely slim. But he had to try. “Educational purposes,” he said finally.

“Educational purposes.” Mustang repeated incredulously. “There was blood all over the floor.” The Colonel’s temper was rising, once again, and Ed saw Hawkeye twitch out of the corner of his eye. He would have to offer them a grain of truth, or risk losing them entirely.

“Look, I don’t practice alchemy,” he admitted. “I can’t.”

“Then where did the blood come from?” Mustang growled and slammed his hands on the table. “Lie to me one more time and I’ll-“

“It was us.” Younger-Ed called defiantly from the doorway. “We did it.”

When Mustang frowned in disbelief, Al peeked out from behind the protective arm Younger-Ed had thrown in front of him and nodded earnestly, wheaten eyes wide. “It’s true! Uncle Edward had nothing to do with it.”

Mustang surveyed them and then glanced at Hawkeye, who gave him a swift nod.

“You can’t be the Elric brothers,” he said faintly. “You’re just children.”

“Not anymore.” Ed said quietly.

Mustang glanced back over at him, something close to compassion in his dark eyes. “No,” he agreed. “Not anymore.” Sighing, he gestured for Younger-Ed and Al to join them at the table. Younger-Ed did so with a deep, obvious, look of mistrust, and settled himself closest to Mustang so that Al wouldn’t have to.

“Tell me what happened.” The Colonel commanded, voice somewhat gentled.

Younger-Ed bristled, folded his arms, and said nothing. His face was impassive, his eyes pure gold-tinted steel. By contrast, Al was looking at Mustang as if the Colonel might just be able to solve all their problems for them. In truth, it wasn’t all that different from the way _his_ Al had looked at the older man –though he could admit that his Mustang had more than earned that implicit trust.

“We’re sorry, Colonel.” Al said solemnly. “We were just trying to bring our mother back, and--“

“They never had a chance to try.” Ed interrupted quickly, firmly. “I got there in time to stop them.”

When Mustang opened his mouth to no doubt bring up the matter of the blood _again_ , like the broken record he often was, Ed cut him off at the pass. “I cut myself by accident.” He said. “It bled. A lot.”

“Must have been a deep cut.” Mustang’s eyes were narrowed, his tone bordering on incredulous.

“It was.”

“Seems to have healed quickly.” The Colonel observed.

“Aren’t I lucky.” Ed met the older man’s suspicious gaze squarely.

Mustang stared back for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “You’re hiding something. And make no mistake, I _will_ find out what.”

“You’re wasting your time, Colonel.” Ed said with a shrug.

“It's Lieutenant Colonel. And we’ll see.” Mustang stood abruptly and gestured sharply at Hawkeye. “Thanks for your time --“ He raised his eyebrows in question.

“Edward Hohenheim.” Ed supplied, somewhat reluctantly.

Mustang nodded, and then swept out of the room, Hawkeye at his heels. Ed watched him go with no small amount of trepidation. He knew Mustang, knew how he worked; the Colonel would keep digging until he found the answer. At some stage, Ed would have to tell him the truth, and hope that he could trust this Mustang as much as he’d come to trust his own.

After the front door had slammed with far more drama than strictly necessary, Al tugged Ed’s sleeve insistently. “Why did you lie to him?” He asked, barely audibly.

“He’s military.” Ed explained with a grimace, “and the military can’t ever know what you can do.”

“Why not?” Younger-Ed, despite himself, actually looked interested. The boy was leaning forward along the table with a challenging gleam in his bright eyes.

“Because they only care about fighting.” Ed said firmly. “And if they knew about your talent – or that you’d attempted human transmutation – then they’d conscript you and force you to wage their pointless wars. Trust me,” he added as an after thought. “I’ve been there.”

“Maybe I _want_ to fight.” Edward said mulishly. Folding his arms, he fixed Ed with a fierce look. “I’m no coward.”

“Then be my guest.” Ed said simply, and then sighed when Al stared at him, eyes wide and pleading. “Look, “ he leaned forward. “I only want to protect the two of you. But I can’t protect you from yourselves. You’ll have to make your own choices, and you’ll have to live with the consequences.” He focused on the younger version of himself. “But you should know: there is _no_ glory in war. Only death.” Glancing away and out the window, he fixed his gaze on the rolling fields. It was that beautiful time of year when the sun rose early and the dawn was often breathless and flushed with muted pastels, bleeding together and spooling across the sky like watercolours. This parallel world – or whatever it was – was so disarmingly alike his own. It was easy to forget that it was filled with people he knew both intimately, and not at all.

A sprightly sheep bleated loudly from a neighbouring paddock and startled a flock of birds into flight. They took to the air with hurried grace, cawing their displeasure as their glossy wings carried them aloft with ease. Ed tracked their movements, absent-mindedly watching as they wheeled in one, smooth, motion and made for the horizon.

He wondered if he was doing the right thing, steering Edward and Al away from the military. While the State’s many conflicts were farcical, and cleverly manipulated to maximise bloodshed, it was true that the military had been invaluable to him. The resources, research, and access to otherwise confidential documents had paved his path, and the friends and allies he’d cultivated had helped him walk it. It was the military – and Mustang – that had given him, and Al, a purpose. And if this world truly was the same as his own, then it was in danger from the same slow-acting poison that had drenched its soil from the beginning. The world would need Younger-Ed and Al; would need them to be ready and prepared to meet the horrors that awaited them.

But maybe…maybe with his knowledge of the future, the boys wouldn’t have to shoulder quite as much as they had in his own world. Perhaps he could help Mustang stay ten steps ahead, and to strike when the enemy was still glutted on conquest, and lazy with the certainty of their secrecy.

It was worth a thought, certainly.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mustang was back before nightfall with an armful of papers and a determined expression. Ed watched the older man’s approach from where he was seated on the patio, a soft woollen blanket covering his legs and hiding his stump from view. As the Colonel marched through the gate and up the path to the house, Ed spared a thought to wonder where his usual deadly, blond, shadow was. It was unlike Hawkeye to let her commanding officer make house calls unattended.

Mustang mounted the steps quickly and made as if to knock on the front door. Before Ed could say a word, the Colonel seemed to notice him sitting there – a dark, blunted, shape in the fading light – and drew his hand back sharply.

“Mr. Hohenheim.” Shuffling the papers balanced on his left arm, he stepped closer to the bench.

Ed winced. “Please,” he looked up at the Colonel. “I’d prefer Ed.”

Mustang surveyed him, a calculating gleam in his dark eyes, and nodded stiffly. Ed knew he was creating a mental file in which he would store every bit of information that struck him as odd, or potentially useful. No doubt Ed’s reaction to hearing his own supposed last name qualified.

A shiver of pain shot up Ed’s thigh as his stump twinged from lack of motion, and he shifted until it dissipated. His hair – free from its usual ponytail – fluttered in the slight breeze and draped itself elegantly across his face.

“Well?” Ed broke the silence, raising a solitary eyebrow, and fighting the urge to sweep his hair aside manically. “What do you want, Mustang?” Giving in, he plucked the offending strands from his face and then gestured to the bench. “And sit, would you? You’re going to give me a neck ache.”

Mustang sat without further prompting, though his expression had more in common with uncertainty than the suave confidence he usually projected. Clearing his throat, he angled himself to face Ed. “I need to…clarify, a few details,” he said slowly. “You claim to be the Elric brothers’ uncle, is that correct?”

“Yes.” Ed said simply.

“On which side of the family?”

“Their father –- Von Hohenheim.”

“I see.” Mustang made a note on the sheaf of papers, expression inscrutable. “When did you last see him?”

“Years ago. Before young -- erm, Edward and Al were born.” Ed fiddled with the blanket, rubbing the soft fibres between his fingers.

“And when was that?” Mustang asked shrewdly.

“When was what?”

“When were Edward and Al born?”

“Oh.” Ed relaxed; this was a question he could answer. “Edward was born in 1899, and Al in 1901.”

“And yourself?”

“Myself?” Ed stalled, a brief note of panic in his voice that he quelled ruthlessly.

“When were you born?” Mustang asked patiently.

Ed hurriedly did the math, but he wasn’t quite quick enough for the Colonel.

“It’s a simple enough question.” Mustang continued. His voice was perfectly even, but there was a hint of satisfaction crinkling the corners of his eyes. “If you’re telling the truth, that is.”

“Why would I lie?” Ed looked away into the distance, willing the lie to be believable. “I was born in 1886.”

When he chanced a glance back, Mustang was staring at him with narrowed eyes. Even in the poor light, Ed could see the disbelief etched into his features. Slowly, the Colonel capped his pen and set it, and the papers, aside on the bench. Then he folded his arms and leaned back, gaze hooded.

“You,” he said softly, “are lying to me.”

Ed scowled and folded his arms in retaliation. “I am not,” he said definitively.

The Colonel’s lips twitched in a muted shade of his patented, self-satisfied, smirk. “I know liars,” he remarked, off-hand. “I know the tricks; I know the tells. You were lying before, and you’re lying now.”

Ed’s temper rose prodigiously at the smug words and, within moments, the flimsy threads of his self-restraint combusted.

“I’m not hiding anything, you pretentious bastard,” he said rudely. “I just won’t stand by while the military breezes in and conscripts my nephews –- who are still _legally_ children –- into a program designed to weaponize alchemy.”

If Mustang was surprised at the sudden leap in logic, he didn’t show it. Instead, Ed sensed something oddly close to grudging respect emanating from the other man.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” The Colonel said grimly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs. “They’ve already caught our attention. Alchemy of that magnitude is rare and dangerous –- as I’m sure you’re well aware. The military is going to be keeping an eye on those boys, one way or another, for the rest of their lives.”

“There must be something you can do, Mustang.” Ed leaned forward, his tone just shy of pleading. “They’re _children_ –- and anyway, they didn’t even activate the array.” Ed fought the urge to flinch as he watched Mustang register the lie, something akin to disappointment clear in his dark eyes.

“Didn’t they?” The words were quiet and less a question than an accusation.

Ed didn’t respond, and the Colonel stared at him for a long moment, before sighing. “Look,” he said honestly. “I don’t want your nephews in the military any more than you do.” At Ed’s disbelieving scoff, his jaw tightened, but he soldiered on. “I would like to help you, but I simply can’t if you insist on lying to me.” He held up a hand to forestall Ed’s arguments. “Don’t. It’s obvious that you are. I don’t know to whom you think you’re talking, but I wasn’t born yesterday, and by all accounts, you weren’t born _at all_. There are no records of you. No one in this town knows who you are, and no one saw you arrive, though I’m willing to bet good money it was very recently.”

Ed weighed his options, but it was clear that he didn’t really have any. Mustang was backing him into a corner and he knew the bastard wouldn’t be satisfied until he felt as if he’d uncovered the truth. And if he was still the same infuriating, dogged, bastard that Ed had known for 14 years, as he clearly was, didn’t that mean all his good qualities were mirrored too? Ed could, and had, trusted a version of Mustang with his life – and with Al’s life, infinitely more precious than his own – in the past. Surely that meant he could trust him now? With Edward and Al, at least, if not his own muddled circumstances. And, he realised, he needed Mustang to trust him if he ever wanted to even _think_ about finding a way home. Access to the military’s resources would be crucial to his research, and, once again, Mustang was his ticket in.

Ed glanced down at the Colonel’s paperwork and saw that the notes he’d been taking earlier were nothing but gibberish; he hadn’t even fooled the older man for a second.

Mustang was still staring at him, though he’d shifted so that he was once again leaning against the bench with his left ankle resting on his right knee. He looked comfortable and quite willing to wait out the silence with measured patience.

“You’re right.” Ed admitted finally. “I wasn’t born here.” Hesitating, he chewed absent-mindedly on his bottom lip and then made a snap decision. “I can’t tell you where, or when, or why I can’t,” he said honestly. “But I _can_ tell you that I’m 24. And I _can_ tell you that I’m related to Edward and Al.”

Mustang mulled his words over, his gaze thoughtful. “Well, that’s honest at least,” he said, albeit somewhat grudgingly. “Why are you here now?”

“I’m here to protect them.” Ed replied without thinking. And while it hadn’t been the true reason for his arrival, it was certainly his current purpose.

“From the military?”

“In part.”

Mustang leaned forward. “Then what happened that night? Tell me the truth.”

“You know the truth.” Ed said, frustrated and unwilling to relive what had always been the worst moment of his life. “You must. They attempted human transmutation –- you know what happens next. They paid the price.”

Mustang frowned. “And what was the result? Was it successful?”

“ _Was it successful_?” Ed parroted, aghast. “What do you _think_?”

The sudden silence between them was heavy with Ed’s horror at the question, and the memories that it evoked. And Mustang seemed unable, or unwilling, to break it; his eyes on locked on Ed’s and something akin to regret lurking in the inky depths.

“They transmuted…something, into existence.” Ed said finally, using his memories of the original event to lend truth to his words. “But it wasn’t human.” Looking away, he let his gaze rest on the diminishing horizon. It was close to nightfall, and the sun had nearly finished its slow descent.

“What was the toll?” Mustang asked quietly, his words nearly swallowed in the ringing stillness.

“It doesn’t matter.” Ed said firmly, his eyes fixed on the threshold between ground and sky. “It would have been immense, but I paid it instead.” He flicked his gaze briefly over to Mustang and offered him a half-smile. “I could afford to.”

Having returned his gaze to the scenery, he missed the way the Colonel’s eyes widened at the admission, though he heard the soft intake of breath.

“That was…kind.”

“It was necessary.” Ed countered, and then added. “I didn’t really lose anything, you know. Just my alchemy.”

“Just your alchemy.” Mustang repeated incredulously, and then shook his head in disbelief. “I’m not sure I’d feel the same way.”

Ed thought of _his_ Mustang. Thought of what he’d done in the pursuit of a better future for his country, of every action he’d taken to make the lives of two stupid, self-destructive, boys meaningful, of all the sacrifices he’d made to protect the people he cared about. It wasn’t even a question, really.

“I think you would,” he said quietly; though he knew it wasn’t one of his better ideas. “You strike me as the kind of man who would sacrifice much for those he loves.”

The man in question looked dumbfounded, which Ed supposed was a valid reaction to an insightful character analysis delivered by a total stranger.

Mustang opened his mouth, closed it, and then frowned. “There’s still something you’re not telling me,” he said finally.

Ed sighed – he should have known the Colonel couldn’t be distracted that easily.

“I don’t owe you full disclosure, Mustang,” he remarked. “I’ve told you what I can. You’ll just have to trust me.” Ed held the Colonel’s gaze as the man considered his words, and then added. “Like I’m trusting you.”

Mustang tapped his fingers against his leg, eyes narrowed in thought, and then nodded.

“Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll report that a human transmutation circle was drawn, but never activated. I’ll say it was you, and that it was for ‘educational purposes’. We’ll still watch your nephews, but perhaps not so closely.”

“Thank you.” Ed said gratefully.

“Don’t thank me.” Mustang stood, straightening with a slight wince. “This will only increase the spotlight on _you_.”

“I can handle it.” Ed said confidently. “If I can’t practice alchemy, surely I can’t be of that much interest to the military.”

“You’d be surprised.” Mustang said darkly, and then fixed him with a stern look. “Do _not_ let this happen again,” he warned. “I wouldn’t be able to sweep it under the rug, and quite frankly I’m not sure that I even should.”

“I understand.” Ed watched as Mustang gathered his papers and pen, strode to the porch stairs, and then paused, uncertainty bleeding into his posture.

“Edward, look,” he rubbed the back of his head. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Well it wouldn’t be the first time.” Ed replied, unthinkingly, and then blanched. “Uh, I mean, for me. I’m, ahh, I don’t, you know, introduce well.” Inwardly he cursed his blabbermouth, and inability to form sentences under pressure.

Mustang raised an eyebrow, the beginnings of a smile in the quirk of his lips. “I would never have guessed.”

Ed scowled, moderately embarrassed. “You weren’t exactly the picture of civility,” he pointed out.

“No.” Mustang agreed easily. “I wasn’t prepared for what I found when I went to that house, and I’ll admit that it frightened me.” The older man’s tone was grave, his expression uncharacteristically open. “The thought of human transmutation alone is chilling enough, but _children_? They were fortunate you were there.”

“I did what anyone would have done.” Ed demurred.

Mustang smiled then, honest and open. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said. “You’re a good man, Edward Hohenheim. Frankly, the world could use more of you.”

“It’s Ed.”

Mustang laughed. “Ed, then.” He moved back towards the bench and offered his hand. “Roy Mustang.”

Ed shook the proffered hand with a pleasant sense of befuddlement. “I’ll see you around, Roy,” he said breezily, trying to hold onto some sense of normalcy.

“I certainly hope so.” Roy said casually and then _winked at him_.

Ed blinked back, completely thrown, and watched as Mustang – _Roy_ – strode down the steps and into the distance. Their dynamic in this world was so different it was baffling. Was this what it was like to be treated as an equal by the Colonel?

The thought was far more intriguing, and thrilling, than it had any right to be.


End file.
